


Shine On How You Shine On

by Miaou Jones (miaoujones)



Category: South Park
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Western, Complicated Emotions, Complicated Relationships, First Time, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-20
Updated: 2011-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-27 14:37:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/296918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miaoujones/pseuds/Miaou%20Jones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Clyde leaned in to kiss Craig as they sat by the fire that night, it wasn't premeditated—but he couldn't truly say it was entirely spontaneous, either. (South Park/Brokeback Mountain)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shine On How You Shine On

**Author's Note:**

> The situations here belong to Brokeback Mountain; the interior life of the cowboys is my imagining.

When Clyde leaned in to kiss Craig as they sat by the fire that night, it wasn't premeditated—but he couldn't truly say it was entirely spontaneous, either.

Craig jerked away before their mouths could meet. He looked at Clyde hard, and Clyde looked back but he couldn't get his eyes as hard as Craig's, and there was nothing for it but to mutter a word of apology as he got up and turned away.

He was on his feet when Craig caught his wrist, not the bone or the flesh of it, just the cuff of his sleeve, but it was enough to turn Clyde back. He stayed on his feet as Craig shifted forward onto his knees. For his part, Craig stayed on his knees as his eyes fell from Clyde's and his hands went to Clyde's belt buckle, and Clyde looked down and watched as Craig, unimpressed by the size or shine of his trophy buckle, simply undid it and took Clyde out. Clyde couldn't tell if Craig was impressed by the size of his own self, but then Craig put his mouth on Clyde and Clyde didn't care whether Craig was impressed or not, so long as he kept his mouth there like that, doing that.

After, Clyde opened his eyes onto the bright little pricks of stars way up above. The stars didn't look back, they just did their own thing, just shone on. Clyde looked down at his dick in Craig's hand. He didn't look at Craig just yet, not even when Craig said, "Can I fuck you now?" Clyde nodded and kept looking at himself in Craig's hand, Craig's fingers moving on him to gather up the spill, the smear of his own shine.

Clyde looked up at the night and the night was not looking back with any eyes that he could see, but he said, "Not out here," anyhow, and so they went inside the tent. Clyde got on his knees, and his hands too. Craig stretched him open and Clyde heard him spit, and then Craig filled him, stretched him more as he did it, stretched him so much and filled him so much that when they were lying there after, Clyde thought he must have been put into a new shape by it all.

He shivered and Craig asked if he was cold, didn't wait for Clyde to answer but drew the blanket up over them and turned on his side, his arm over Clyde too.

In the morning, Clyde woke up by himself. He came out of the tent to find Craig already saddled up. Clyde was feeling too lonesome for company himself, and he guessed Craig must be feeling the same, so he didn't say anything as he watched Craig mount up and ride off.

 

"Touch me, too," Craig whispered in the tent that night, so Clyde rolled from his side onto his back and reached for Craig the way Craig had reached for him, and they lay there for a while just touching each other and breathing, and when Clyde opened his mouth to breathe a little harder he realized it wasn't so warm in the tent that air wouldn't scrape a path across your tongue and throat, so he closed his mouth again—but then Craig moved his hand to Clyde's balls and started rolling and squeezing and rubbing, touched a spot just behind that made Clyde's mouth come open and his breath rush out with an inarticulate sound, made him want to open his legs more and he wondered briefly if this is what whores feel like when you touch them right to get them to spread their legs for you; and then Clyde wasn't wondering anything, not in words, because Craig was between his legs, filling him with flesh and spill.

 

At the end of summer, not the last true day of the season but their last one up here, one of the horses took a wrong step and couldn't bear any weight but her own. Clyde said he would walk down off the mountain, but Craig told him not to be a damn fool, so he put his foot in Craig's clasped hands and got up first, then gave an arm to help Craig swing up behind him, and they sat the one horse together, leading the lame one behind with the mules.

Clyde had the reins and Craig had the denim of his own jeans, until he put his arms around Clyde's waist and then he had Clyde's denim. Undid Clyde's denim but he didn't take Clyde out, just went inside. Slid down his length and Clyde shifted so Craig could palm his balls the way Clyde liked so much, and then Craig touched him just there, where it made Clyde want to spread his legs, but his legs were already pretty wide and so he arched instead, and his hat fell off and they didn't stop for it, just rode on.

After Clyde spilled out this time, he kept his head on Craig's shoulder. And then he opened his eyes, and spilled out again, different.

Craig didn't say anything. Didn't move his hand to gather up the spill from Clyde's eyes. Didn't look away, and even though it wasn't the hard look from that night by the campfire, or maybe because it wasn't hard, Clyde looked away. He looked a ways off, down the slope of the mountain and into the days ahead, days turning into more than days, and he could feel Craig's arms around him right now, here on the mountain, coming down, but still on the mountain right now, and he was so lonesome he could cry.

He felt Craig touch his face. He opened his eyes and watched Craig stain his jeans dark and wet with the spill he'd gathered after all. He looked at Craig but Craig wasn't looking at him now, so Clyde sat up proper and they didn't look at each other until the bottom of the mountain, and they never shared another word until the postcard, four years later, in Craig's own handwriting, asking for him; and Clyde's postcard back, "Yes."


End file.
